


Fallen Feathers

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Series: Short and Sweet (Fics of About 1000 Words or Less) [7]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Everything Is Better With Wings, Gen, I Made It Sad I'm Sorry, The One Where Yasha Was a Pit Fighter, Yasha Tries To Fly, backstory speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 14:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: “Can you fly?” It was the question she had been expecting, but familiarity didn’t make it hurt any less.“No,” Yasha replied softly. She didn’t blame Fjord for asking. Isn’t that what everyone dreamed of, in some way? The ability to fly? The freedom of it?“Have you tried?” Jester asked, and for some reason that question got past the walls Yasha had built for herself, her awareness of the present falling away, becoming the past.





	Fallen Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> So we had a bit of backstory reveal tonight and I'll be doing *something* with that I'm sure, but this is not that. I was halfway through this fic when the episode started and I refused to abandon it.

Yasha had known there would be questions, after the battle was over, after everyone was safe. That’s what happened when people saw her wings. Questions. She braced herself for them like she would brace herself for any attack she couldn’t avoid. She had been lucky with Molly, who had only asked if that was going to happen _every_ time he had to wake her up. He hadn’t made a big deal out of it otherwise, because that was his way.

“Can you fly?” It was the question she had been expecting, but familiarity didn’t make it hurt any less.

“No,” Yasha replied softly. She didn’t blame Fjord for asking. Isn’t that what everyone dreamed of, in some way? The ability to fly? The freedom of it?

“Have you tried?” Jester asked, and for some reason _that_ question got past the walls Yasha had built for herself, her awareness of the present falling away, becoming the past.

*******

Yasha had been born with skin the color of bone, with hair as white as clouds in summer, with eyes two different colors, one violet and one blue-green, the irises striking against the paleness of the rest of her. Her clan celebrated her birth. The blood of Celestials ran strongly in her, made her lucky, blessed. She would go on to do great things, her parents had told her, but don’t all parents hope that for their children?

Yasha had been too young to know that her heritage might make her a target, a trophy, a prize. She had only been a child, tucked safe in her bed, dreaming of flying on wings as white as clouds in sunlight, when the slavers had come. Her parents had told her to run, and run she had, even though she had wanted to stay and fight, wanted to protect them. (In her dreams she stayed, and fought, and won, and everyone lived happily ever after like the stories Momma had told her before bed.)

Yasha had been caught, and she had fought, though she had no weapons. And the slavers had laughed, had called her spirited, had put her in chains and dragged her away from sunlight and skies and parents and dreams and down into the dark where everything was nightmares and pain and fear and anger. She didn’t want to fight, she didn’t want to hurt anyone, but she didn’t want to _be_ hurt, either. So she fought when she was told to fight, pushed down her fear and her anger, and dreamed of flying away on wings the color of clouds. It was a child’s dream, and she dreamt it even when she was no longer a child.

Time had passed, Yasha hadn’t been sure how much. There had only been fighting, eating, sleeping, dreaming. During all that she just kept pushing down her fear and pain and anger so that she could do what she had to do, but all those feelings had to come out somehow, sometime. They had erupted from her in a scream so loud and long that her opponent had taken a step back, eyes wide and only growing wider when her wings unfurled.

Yasha had seen her wings outstretched, reflected in her opponents eyes. They were like she always dreamed, white as clouds, white as her hair. For the first time since she had been taken, she had felt hope fill her heart as she had looked upwards, flapped her wings….

Nothing had happened. She had turned her head to the side slightly, just in time to watch the white feathers turn gray, then turn black before curling up at the edges and falling away like leaves in autumn, revealing bones as white as her skin. The hope in her heart had turned to ice and shadows as her opponent began to scream. In his eyes she had seen her hair turn black, her eyes go dark. She was no longer what she had always dreamt she would be. She was a nightmare.

*********

“Yasha?” Jester’s voice, a little concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Oh. Ummmm. Yes.” Yasha blinked, resurfacing from her thoughts. “I am fine. And yes, I tried to fly once. It didn’t work.”

Yasha volunteered for the last watch of the night and stared up at the storm clouds, the rain falling on her face like tears. She would make it up there someday. She would.

Unseen, a single white feather blew away on the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm angel-ascending over on Tumblr if y'all want to stop by and say hi!


End file.
